


Frayed ends

by Shirohime



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Madness, Past Torture, Psychological Trauma, Service Dogs, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 19:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirohime/pseuds/Shirohime
Summary: Sam's soul was rescued but it's broken and shattered and far from ok





	Frayed ends

The ceiling was pink. 

Pink and bright and frankly something that made him wrinkle his nose. 

His brain was short circuiting every time he tried to think, pain flaring up with foggy memories that he could swear once had meaning but now they didn't even make sense.

Blinking slowly he turned onto his side. He was laying down, it seemed. 

Long fingers curled and uncurled into a fist, the hand connected to his body by flesh but not belonging. It felt wrong. 

Like fire should be where blood now ran, like rotten bones should break where healthy white ones now stood strong.

This body didn't feel like his own. It obeyed his commands but it was too big, too painless and.... Too alright.

Low hitched breaths caught his attention, he felt dizzy and it occurred to him it must be his own lungs and airways which were working too fast, letting more air in than out (or was it the opposite?).

His vision blurred, pain moving through his body (broken bones, guts ripped out of his stomach but he couldn't die, he could never die, He wouldn't allow it, please someone kill him).

A soft voice irritated him enough to snap out of his thoughts, though the mental carousel kept spinning fast so fast, and he tried to find the source of it (what if it was Him, he had to be sure).

There was something soft tingling the nerves on those arms that might be - but really weren't - his.

A rich dark brown moved into his view, a wet tongue slobbering all over his face (it was his face wasn't it? ).

It distracted him from his own mind and he found himself smiling, straining his facial muscles after not being used in so long (why didn't he?).

"Sam, hey, are you with me, buddy?", the voice said, the warmth of a hand with splayed fingers shaking his shoulder gently (he was pretty sure it was his shoulder). 

Hazel eyes trailed from the ceiling, and the giant chocolate lab next to him, to a familiar face with freckles that got worse each summer.

"Dean...", Sam's voice was croaked, barely audible as he tried to work through just that one word. 

He missed the ceiling. 

Had it been green?

He didn't know why, but green seemed like a pretty good choice.

Just like he knew Corgis were adorable even though he wasn't sure what a Corgi was.

Had someone been talking to him? Didn't seem to have been anything important, the room was empty except for Sam.

The ceiling was gray.

There was dust shining in the sunlight, dancing a hypnotic waltzer nobody could decode.

Sam smiled. 

His eyes felt heavy, he was so tired.

But there was something important to do, he just couldn't  remember.

Where was the pink ceiling?

Oh right. It was burning in flames, red gorging down all traces of neon pink and leaving behind only gray and black.

It was a frightening thought.

But everything Sam loved would be eaten by flames, always had and always would.

When did he sit up?

There was a blade in his hand, silver shining so brightly, it looked so happy. Could it share its happiness with Sam?

He wanted to try. 

 

The ceiling was white. 

He felt on edge, tired but ready to charge like an animal that got cornered.

Funny sounds danced through his ears, none making sense, all slipping through his mind without hold.

There was the chocolate lab again, laying across his stomach and apparently asleep. 

Did it belong to him?

Did he name the dog?

He couldn't remember. 

His arms felt more numb than usually.

 

The ceiling was white when Dean was there, but it wasn't white when he left, leaving Sam alone again and (why did everyone leave? He didn't mean any harm, had he been insulting or physically aggressive? He couldn't have been).

He named the Labrador Jack. 

 

The ceiling was gray when Dean said Jack was a bad dog. 

Sam didn't manage to listen to anything until the ceiling was white again after that. 

The white ceiling was safer to wake up to than the gray one, Sam didn't get why it changed colors so often. He'd like it to stay white.

White meant friendly voices, gentle caresses and Jack was allowed to sleep on the bed with him. 

Gray meant angry shouting, doors slamming shut and dark bags under Dean's eyes and Jack would whine in his dog bed. 

Time began to exist again. 

Doctors talked to him but he couldn't focus on their words, they felt foreign and wrong. It made him sick.

The pain kept hiding from him. It scared Sam. 

But Jack was there and so were Cas and Gabe (who was that?)

The doctors sighed a lot. 

He didn't know why. 

When Gabe came he felt the best. He understood words and sometimes things hurt within him but it made him feel real.

Dean looked less tired. 

Cas went to the vet with Jack for vaccinations. 

Cas said Jack was a good dog.

Sam agreed.

The ceiling was gray more often than it was white. 

Gabe said he made progress. 

Sam couldn't remember why, but it felt nice to be praised. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tired, lonely and not in a good mood. Does this make sense? Probably as much sense as a duck wearing a dog costume.  
> You guys rock


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